


Nothing But My Aching Soul

by LittlePageAndBird



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bad Days, F/M, Fluff, Hugs, OTP Feels, Old Married Couple, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 22:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3827638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlePageAndBird/pseuds/LittlePageAndBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>She leaned forwards until her lips lightly touched his forehead, murmuring against it. “Whatever happened, it’s over. You’re here, and I’m here, and we’re in our Tardis floating among the stars not far from Earth where Clara’s probably fast asleep in her flat. Everything’s alright.”</em>
</p><p>The Doctor seeks out the only person he knows can shed some light on a dark day, and gives her a gift from his days on Trenzalore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing But My Aching Soul

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my take on THAT ring the Doctor wears and where it comes from. This is also a Universe where River is somehow restored to life and her and Twelve are a lovely little happily married couple (the better Universe, obviously).  
> Title taken from Lana Del Rey's Young and Beautiful.  
> Please enjoy! x

The Doctor set the co-ordinates almost instinctively, merely throwing a vaguely concerned thought that he hoped he didn’t squash another one of the sofas or coffee tables in his wife’s living room. When the landing was smooth, he used the last of his strength to wander over to the two-person seat in the console room and sink down into it, folding in on himself with a weary sigh.

Too busy pressing his knuckles into his eye sockets until blue lights burst behind the lids, he heard her approach rather than saw it – the distinct clack of heels, always a giveaway.

“Hello sweetie.”

He risked a peek at her over the tops of his hands, blinking away the damage he’d done attempting to push his eyes back into his skull. “Hey.”

River winced, regarding him from the doorway with one hand propped on her hip disapprovingly. “My, that was gruff. Even for you,” she remarked lightly, a playful yet somehow sympathetic – how could she even do that? One emotion was complex enough – smile dancing on her face as she tilted her head to the side. “Bad day?” she asked, voice soft.

He nodded briskly, averting his eyes to hide the sudden shininess. “Are you psychic, or just a know-it-all? Both are annoying,” he muttered, refusing to acknowledge the barely perceptible crack in his voice.

Of course she noticed it. His eyes flew back to her just in time to see her eyebrows pinch together before she hid her concern with a smirk. “Neither. Didn’t you know? I’m magic.”

He couldn’t quite find it in himself to laugh, or even the default deadpan mildly insulting remark. River Song appeared to be the only one left in the Universe who made the anger of a thousand years melt away into a mellow sort of patience; not that he’d ever care to admit that.

She must have seen the little droop in his shoulders as breath left him in a tired sigh, and a moment later she was slipping off her crimson heels to discard them haphazardly on the console room floor. Before he could do a thing to stop or encourage her – given the option, he had no idea which one he would have gone with – she had skipped over to collapse gracefully into the free River-shaped space next to him, tucking neatly into his side with a contented sigh.

“What are you doing?” he asked slowly, remaining bolt upright and frowning at the mass of curls fogging up his vision as she curled an ankle around his.

“I don’t know, husband.” He could hear the smile riding on her words. Her fingertips traced soothing circles into his chest before she curled her arm snugly around his waist; usually something she’d do to stop him writing in discomfort, though at present he appeared incapable of movement. “Perhaps I’m going soft.”

The Doctor relented with a soft sigh, pressing his cheek against her silky hair and letting his eyes flutter shut. “Apparently, so am I. I was going to sulk.” His wife’s bubbly laughter underneath him made him follow the urge to thread fingers through her curls, stroking the nape of her neck with his thumb.

“No, you weren’t,” River murmured, bringing her hand up to toy with one of his shirt buttons idly. “Or you wouldn’t have come to me.”

“I always come to you. You’re the one rock to cling to in the proverbial raging ocean of catastrophe that is my life.”

“God, you’re getting poetic… just how bad was this day?”

“Bad.”

“Care to elaborate? You know I’ll get it out of you in any case.”

“You will. But later; for now, I just need you here.” He traced his fingers along the arm snaked around his hips, pinching at her shirt sleeve.

“I can do that.” She stretched up to press a soft kiss to his cheek, cupping his jaw to turn his face to hers. “Always,” she assured him, voice soft as a whisper and close enough for her nose to brush lightly against his.

The Doctor’s eyes bore into hers, studying the golden flecks interspersed with emerald that he found there; it reminded him inexplicably of Gallifrey, of home; though by now, she was more like home than any planet had ever been.

He plucked her arm from his hips and draped it over his shoulder, giving him the freedom to wrap his arms tightly around her waist and pull her to him. Her hand instinctively lifted to cradle his head as he buried his face in her shoulder until the spicy tang of her perfume made him dizzy.

They stayed locked together for minutes with only their soft breathing to dispel the silence, River’s fingertips carving soothing patterns into the nape of his neck. He only became aware of his own crying upon lifting his head, seeing the damp patch he’d left on River’s shirt.

“I don’t do this enough anymore,” he grumbled, concentrating her shirt buttons and how each of them looked like tiny planets. “I don’t… I don’t do a lot of things enough.”

“Sweetie,” she chastised gently, smoothing his silver curls through her fingers. “You’ve had a bad day; you know that’s why you’re thinking like that. Don’t let it beat you.” She leaned forwards until her lips lightly touched his forehead, murmuring against it. “Whatever happened, it’s over. You’re here, and I’m here, and we’re in our Tardis floating among the stars not far from Earth where Clara’s probably fast asleep in her flat. Everything’s alright.”

He shook his head slowly, eyes swollen into wide pools of milky blue, and picked up her hand to cradle it in his. “I need to give you something.”

It didn’t come out nearly as sweetly as he’d imagined – too gruff and far too Scottish – but it made her smile anyway. “Ooh. Have you been shopping for me?”

“No.” He turned their hands over so that his was on top, the ring on his third finger glinting under the Tardis lights. “I lied to you. You asked about this ring, and I said it was a signet with no meaning, but it’s not.” He drew in a deep breath at her quizzical frown. “Bear with me here, because things are about to get really soppy and you’ll probably want to slap me by the end. It’ll soon be over, I assure you. It’s just that today, I thought… I could have died, and I all I thought was that you’d never have known this.”

She looked down at his ring, running her thumb over it lightly with a little smile. “Tell me a story, Doctor.”

His voice dropped to little above a whisper, clutching at her hand all the while. “While I was on Trenzalore, I told them about you. I told everyone about the amazing River Song who tore the Universe apart for me, who ran across time and space with me to repair it. The children drew me pictures of you.” He stopped to smile thinly at the memory, tracing the faint pathway of veins on the inside of her wrist. “And on one of my last days there, when my body had aged so much that I could no longer leave the bell tower, a had a woman come to visit me. I couldn’t remember her, but she said I’d told her stories as a kid. One story – the River Song story, she said – had always stuck with her. Her mother and grandmother before her had been jewellers, and since hearing that story she said she’d always known what she’d make first, when she was old enough. And then… she gave me two rings that she’d made. One for me, she said… and one for River Song. Wedding rings, because she remembered the story of the bow tie and how we’d never exchanged rings. I explained to her that you were long dead and I’d never be able to give you your ring, but she insisted that I keep it anyway. Miracles happen, she said. Good thing I listened.”

“You were wearing that ring when we found each other,” she observed, voice thick.

He nodded gently. “I’ve always worn it; since I stopped wearing our old one." His fingers ghosted over the space where a bow tie had once sat. "Do you want yours? I’ve got it here.” He shifted next to her to dig his hand inside his jacket, pulling out a closed fist moments later. Eyes flitting up to hers anxiously, he took hold of her hand and slipped a gold band holding a shimmering green gemstone similar to his on her finger. “Fits you,” he remarked softly. “Sorry. I never got you a ring… I should have.”

“I’d never have been able to wear it for spoilers.”

“That’s true.” He twined his fingers through hers until their rings clinked together, both of them admiring their hands in settled silence before a deep, shaking breath lifted his shoulders. “River-”

“Thank you.” His wife squeezed his hand, the apples of her cheeks flushed and the most beautiful smile he’d ever known on her face. “I don’t think I say that to you enough, my love. But then again… some things don’t need to be said.” She rested her palm over his hearts, and he realised that she’d interrupted him because she’d known exactly what he’d been about to say.


End file.
